


Locavore

by karotsamused



Category: One Piece, Ouran High School Host Club
Genre: Cooking, Crossover, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karotsamused/pseuds/karotsamused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every responsible chef should at least experiment with local sourcing. Lucky for the new kid, Ouran Academy has a gardening club with a very, very earnest member.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locavore

**Author's Note:**

> I used to have a job where I sat in on endless meetings that did not require my participation. Sometimes, I wrote stories to my wife in e-mails. This is one of those stories. Edited for clarity and flow.  
> ...also I love the idea that Zeff is still infamous. Haha!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who, upon walking into a very, very pink kitchen, couldn't help but smile.

Now _this_ was more like it.

The appliances and fixtures shone, freshly polished, the smell of disinfectant covered almost completely by the perfume of roses in glittering vases that filled the windowsills. But he did not breathe easy until he lit up the stove, breathing the heat and steam in place of smoke. A school like this didn't permit smoking, not even within the gardens. He hadn't yet found that cadre of smokers that huddled together in their safe places, puffing furtively like criminals. He wasn't so weak as to let his hands shake, not after one measly day of classes, but he couldn't deceive himself when, as the range burned blue-orange, he began again to feel comfortable in his own skin.

The second step, once the water was on the fire, was to move back and protect his ridiculously expensive lavender coat by hanging it on a peg, and take an apron instead.

He'd asked not to have to wear that coat, and gotten boxed on the ear. He wasn't going to be seen dead in a sweater vest, and it appeared adherence to at least three layers of the school uniform was going to be a requirement if he didn't want to have to explain the bruises later. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if he told the Chef one of his molars had felt a little loose last time his teeth had clacked together, then snorted and dismissed it.

Working in silence was the strangest part. Without something to puff on or someone to yell at the silence was nearly oppressive. He filled it with the sound of popping oil.

"Um."

He turned at the sound. On second thought, it couldn’t have been as gruff and gravelly as he'd first heard. His mind must have played tricks on him, making it sound more familiar. The kid in the doorway to the cooking club's room wasn't even as tall as he was, and looked a little like a deer in headlights. But the set of his mouth, the strange architectural sternness around his eyes, were oddly familiar. He began to get the funny feeling they'd met.

"Hi," he said, his eyebrow raising. He eyed the pot in the kid's hands. "Is that the tomato plant I asked for?"

"Ah," said the kid, stepping in. "Yeah. Where d'you want it?"

He pointed to one of the big windows, the one without roses settled on the sill, and said, "Do you think it'll go well enough there? You're in the gardening club, right? This room faces North."

He watched the kid move. The slow, sort of awkward steps of someone making himself small, and the hunched posture indicating the same. But his hands were careful as they set the pot down on the sill, and dark brown with dirt smudges, crescents of black under his nails.

"It should be okay. Just don't let the soil dry out, and if it gets yellow or spotty, you should, um."

The kid paused, looked directly at him for the first time. The recognition bloomed on him, moving from the slackness in his jaw to the raising of his eyebrows.

The declaration came out on one explosive breath. "Holy shit you're Zeff's kid."

He laughed, and turned back to the stove, shaking his head. "That old bastard? Like he'd get a woman to be in the same room with him, let alone lay him."

"Oh. Um. But." It was that squirming awkwardness that finally sealed it.

"Sanji," he said.

"Huh?"

"It's Sanji. And you're Kasanoda. Now we know each other, right?" He flicked the pan and watched the arc of snap peas and water chestnuts as they flipped, then dropped again.

Kasanoda, by the sound of it, hadn't moved. "Um. Yeah, I guess so."

The silence stretched for a long moment, the discomfort evident in the shuffling sound of Kasanoda's shoes as they scuffed the floor. The moment Kasanoda started to shift away, he turned again and said, "So are you staying, or what?"

"Ah! Oh. Sorry. Um, I'm going--"

"Because I need someone to try this."

Kasanoda looked at him for a moment like it was poisoned. Or like Sanji was playing a trick. But, obediently, he came over, his hands stuffed into his pockets to hide the dirt. As if Sanji couldn't see the brown patches on his knees, or smell the richness of the soil stuck to his shoes. God, when had he smelled anything like that? Not since he was little, maybe, but even then it was more motor oil and sand. This was -- _rich kid dirt_. It almost made him laugh.

He held out the spoon. "You allergic to mushrooms?"

"No," said Kasanoda, taking it suspiciously. But he put the spoon in his mouth.

And when his eyes closed, just briefly, on an expression of blissful shock, Sanji had the funny feeling he should keep ordering from the gardening club. He'd heard good things about local sourcing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Total Members: 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/711064) by [DREAMi_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DREAMi_Girl/pseuds/DREAMi_Girl)




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